


In and of Itself

by SerAnneliese



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Ignoct New Years Gift Exchange, M/M, Mutual Pining, New Year 2021, so much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:53:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28446438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerAnneliese/pseuds/SerAnneliese
Summary: One wound is tended but a thousand words are left unsaid.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 2
Kudos: 50
Collections: Ignoct New Years Gift Exchange 2020





	In and of Itself

**Author's Note:**

> This is my submission for the Ignoct Gift Exchange (@ignoctgiftexchange on Tumblr; @ignoctgiftexch on Twitter) 2021! I received @Tovkoi on Twitter/AO3 as my Secret Santa, and their request was very open! I decided to go with a domestic touch for our boys: no angst, just pining. The Archive tag for violence is just a precaution, as there are detailed mentions of blood and some mild medical procedures.  
> I hope you have a wonderful 2021! May it be filled with lots of Ignoct goodness (ﾟ⊿ﾟ)

“Hey, Iggy?”

The words come out with just the right amount of sheepishness and familiarity to catch his attention. They’d been walking a ways through the scrubby, swampy grass of the Vesperpool, swatting flies and their myriad kin from their exposed skin, and Ignis had taken to leading the way back to the Regalia with Gladio beside him. The younger boys had taken up the back, shorter legs grateful for the pre-flattened vegetation as they made their way up a small incline. Ignis blinked and looked behind him, stopping where his last step took him.

“Yes?”

Behind him stood Noctis, Prince of Lucis, and Chosen King of the Crystal. It was to his charge the young Prince was given, and it was a full-time job for any one person to accommodate. Many of the Citadel’s servants had pondered him from afar, the Prince too aloof to spend any real time with people outside of his usual circle. He made few public appearances before Insomnia fell to Niflheim, and yet Ignis thought it stood to reason that a quick Moogle search would show any curious person the face of their liege. Despite his reticent nature, Noctis had attended several meetings and formal events with his father growing up, and those always had ample press coverage. The late king was more accepting of this spotlight, having been groomed to accept it from a young age, but his shy son never took up on the chance to be the center of attention back home. And lucky thing for them now that Regis hadn’t pushed it too far: they could travel in relative secrecy, their status only betrayed by Crown City accents and luxury choice of vehicle, the Empire giving up the chase when they entered a crowded area. Times like this, however, didn’t offer them the security of lights and seas of bodies to blend into, and the threat of assassination was always in the back of his mind. If he had a more insistent nature, he’d have Noctis wear protective headgear anytime they left the indoors. Perhaps also body armor in the event a potential sniper decided to incapacitate him instead of going for the kill. But he knew, after years of high-maintenance conditioning, Noctis simply wouldn’t go for it. If his complaining didn’t knock Ignis out first, his constant stops for breath would make the others impatient. He couldn’t always control him, he knew. But like any retainer worth their salt, he’d rather avoid worst-case scenarios before they came to life. Thinking was in his blood.

He looked to Noctis and his eyes fell immediately to his right leg. Dark streams of blood soaked from a claw-like tear in his inner thigh, crusting his pants to his skin and dribbling steadily into his boots. No doubt by the amount of it, he’d been bleeding for some time.

“Noct!” he exclaimed, rushing to kneel before him. Gladio and Prompto saw his wound at the same time and each reacted, confused and frightened.

“What the heck, dude?” Prompto asked, swivelling his head to get a good look, covering his nose with one hand. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Speak up if you’re hurt,” Gladio reprimanded, crossing his arms.

At his feet, Ignis worked quickly. He prodded the wound carefully to check the extent of the damage, fingers deftly working to avoid hurting Noctis further, and creating an action plan in his head. He pulled two large gauzes from his pack and a pair of sewing scissors, cutting away at the cloth to give him room to work. Noctis tried to stand still for him but lost his balance several times, finally giving in and leaning his hands on Ignis’ shoulders.

“I didn’t feel it bleeding ‘til I didn’t feel it at all,” he gritted, breathing in through his teeth. Ignis quickly cleaned it out and covered up the immediate area, careful to not stick any adhesive near the hot, irritated flesh surrounding each cut. He cleaned up his mess and signalled to Noctis to let him up, guiding him back to balance with one hand on his upper arm. Noctis instinctually pulled his hurt leg up in a limp.

“Can you walk?” he inquired, studying his face for signs of pain. Noctis stared at the bright white peeking out from the cut in his pants.

“I think so. Lemme try.”

He took some steps forward, testing his weight, and promptly fell after three tries. Ignis pinched the bridge of his nose as Prompto and Gladio helped heave him from the mud.

“In addition to laundry, we’ll need to get that wound secured,” he said aloud, the others looking away but listening. “We’ll need to set up camp here tonight.”

“Here? In the swamp?” Prompto asked, frightened. The sun wasn’t quite set but daylight was threatening to give within the next few hours. Driving Noctis to the nearest hotel would leave them open to daemon road attacks.

“You got a better plan?” Gladio asked him, one arm snugged under Noctis’ shoulder, gripping his ribs. Noctis had one eye closed, his lips pursed in what seemed to be him holding back from whining.

“We’ve no other options. Either his wound becomes infected and we delay our journey further, or we take a night to rest and properly clean it out.”

To his surprise, Noctis hadn’t given his input. He sat between the two boys, adjusting his weight to keep his leg from smarting, eyes on the ground. Ignis met Gladio’s eyes.

“Gladio.”

“Huh?”

“Can you carry him?”

_ “Can I _ isn’t the question. It’s whether Her Highness will let me.”

He said this while hauling Noctis further on his feet, his teeth bared from the movement. He looked at him.

“You promise to behave?”

“Yeah,” Noctis answered, impatient. “Just be careful where you step or I’ll kick you like a horse.”

Gladio snorted.

“With your one good leg?”

He left Noctis’ weight to Prompto while he kneeled, adjusting his belt for the movement, and Prompto strained against slumping too far down. Noctis limped to Gladio’s back, feet unsteady, and Prompto helped guide his legs around his thick waist. Gladio stood up, knees popping, and startled when Noctis cried out. He buried his face into his tank top and shook, breathing hoarsely.

“What? What’s up?” Gladio asked, unable to see his face.

“Put him down, Gladio!”

The pressure of his thigh against Gladio’s side had agitated the wound, blood seeping through the cotton and threatening to soak the gauze altogether. Ignis reformulated the plan and had Gladio carefully pick him up from the front, one hand on his shoulders and the other keeping his leg from making contact with anything. It was awkward to do, sure, but it got them moving again. Ignis took the sole lead and avoided looking back unless it was to make sure they were both still keeping pace. Noctis’ noises were few and far between but each one stabbed him in the chest like sharp personal failures.

They made it to a secluded haven at the edge of the area, far enough from the waters to be safe from animals. The cooling light of the stone beneath them put Ignis’ mind at ease, reminding him that hope wasn’t all lost. They could stop the wound’s advancement before it became septic.

Gladio passed Noctis to Ignis, unstrapping the backpack with their tent and setting to work. They’d stopped by the car before making for the haven, grabbing only the necessary camping supplies for the night. Ignis did as Gladio had done and held him tightly, trying to soothe his stiffness away. The prince had fallen half-asleep while walking and was fighting to stay awake instead of powering down like he probably wanted to. Ignis moved the hand from his shoulders and guided his head into his neck, brushing down the loose hairs on the back of his scalp.  _ He must really be in pain _ , Ignis thought to himself. Noct never made a scene of getting hurt unless it was severe, and the way the wound had left him speechless was disconcerting.

“Uh, Iggy?” Prompto asked from somewhere beside him. He turned his upper body, moving Noctis’ leg with it.

“Yes?”

“Should I set up the camp stove? I dunno if we’re still gonna eat dinner or not.”

“Dinner will have to wait, I’m afraid. I’ll need the stove to boil water in first.”

Prompto’s face lit up.

“So, that means there’ll be food after all?”

“After I get Noct comfortable, I’ll whip us up something.”

The blond pumped his fist in triumph before bounding off to the center of their emerging camp, using practiced motions to set up the cooking gear.

“You shouldn’t get his hopes up like that.”

Noctis had fallen still in the minutes Ignis had been holding him, the tremors of his arms ceasing and the tense muscles of his legs relaxing somewhat. His voice was muffled by the collar of Ignis’ shirt.

“Should I have promised nothing, then? You all need to keep up your strength.”

“You can give my plate to the guys. I’m not really hungry.”

“... That’s unlike you,” he answered honestly, swaying gently back and forth. He hadn’t realized he’d been doing it until his legs became stiff from standing still so long. Noctis hadn’t seemed to mind the motion, so he continued. He felt him readjust his arms around his neck.

“I don’t like to eat when I’m stressed.”

It was a truthful reply. In high school, during the peak of his father’s decline in health, Noctis had grown leaner than Ignis had ever seen him. He would ask for fewer snacks than usual and would spend less time with his friends, more time alone in his room. It was then that Ignis had learned one of the hardest lessons for caring for royalty: everything they did lived within the public conscience. If it had been a different time, perhaps, when their nation didn’t live in fear of igniting another war with Niflheim, Noctis may have been able to get the professional help he’d been in desperate need of as a teenager. Instead, to provide for a strong image, he had been denied mental health intervention on the basis of national security. It was a grave injustice, Ignis knew, to sacrifice the Prince’s health for the Crown. He’d made his objections quite clear when he’d brought the subject to confidential council. And yet, in the delicate game of politics, their interest of self-preservation had prevailed. It had only bought them a few more years-- critical ones, perhaps, to allow the Prince more training and time to mature. And yet, he couldn’t help but bristle internally at the circumstances.

Gladio motioned for them to enter the erected tent, lifting the flap to clear the way. Ignis crouched to fit through the opening and found a bedroll laid out for Noctis. He gingerly settled to his knees, taking it one at a time, and laid his Prince down on the floor of the tent. Noctis shifted once, pulling his leg into a more comfortable position, but otherwise let Ignis do the work. When he was settled, Ignis used his newly freed hands to open the medical kit and set to work on his wound. It would’ve been easier (much easier) to work if Noctis had agreed to remove his pants, but the Prince complained lightly of preserving his dignity and instead had Ignis cut off the remainder of the leg fabric, setting it aside. Burning disinfectant and astringent antibacterials set to work in the crevices of his fleshy cuts, Noctis biting the side of his hand to keep from crying out too loudly. Thankfully, Ignis had just enough medical nylon left to thread his suture needle and cleanly stitch up the worse parts of the cuts. Everything was covered in more gauze and medical tape, Noctis kindly lifting his bottom up and balancing on his hands for much of it, before Ignis gave him lease to cover up with a blanket. He’d need to take it easy for a few days at least.

It had taken them almost an hour to finish up in the tent, and when Ignis left to dump the waste water away from camp, he found no one there but a message on his cellphone.

Gone hunting. -G

How noble of them. He would have preferred a face-to-face chat, but he supposed it was just as well. The fire was burning lowly, set to be easily stoked when cooking began, but Ignis gave it more kindling to keep the cold away. If he were honest with himself, he was glad for the moments alone. When he’d touched Noctis’ bare skin, cutting away the fabric to reveal the taught muscles of his leg, he’d hoped his shallow swallowing would be wholly ignored or excusable under stress. It wasn’t like him to become distracted by thoughts of idle fancy. It would have been preferable for the Prince to have removed his trousers completely so Ignis could concentrate on his wound instead of fighting off fantasies of what lay beneath. The open patch of skin had been so much more tantalizing. It let his imagination run wild with the possibilities. Of course, he hadn’t entertained them long enough to be driven to distraction. His fingers tingled with the phantom feeling of warm skin against his.

He gathered a water bottle and some painkillers, returning to the tent to see Noctis staring at the ceiling. He settled down beside him, folding his legs criss-cross, and passed both to the Prince. He gave a small thanks and downed two of the red pills, washing them down with the whole bottle.

“You seem to be pulling through nicely,” he offered, observing him in his bed.

“Thanks to you,” he replied, wiping his lips with his hand. He stretched his arms above his head, winced, then slowly let them back down.

“How long until I can move again?”

“At least two days. We’ll need to send one of us on a supply run, but if we can live without being on the road for more than a few hours, this is where we’ll remain. I can remove your sutures in about a fortnight.”

“Fourteen days?”

Noctis echoed it back with an air of being inconvenienced. Ignis pushed up his glasses.

“Ten, if your stitches behave themselves. That means no heavy lifting, running, and absolutely no warping.”

The Prince flopped back onto his pillow dramatically, heaving a sigh.

“You should be grateful,” he continued, busying himself with more cleanup.

“This means we get to do all the work for you.”

“Just what I’ve always wanted.”

There was disappointment in his sarcasm. He resumed staring at the top of the tent, watching the ripples in the fabric. Ignis turned away and plucked a sleep shirt from his bag.

“I hope you don’t mind if I dress down for the night, Highness.”

“Go for it.”

He excused himself to a corner of the tent and began undressing. He reached below his waistline and undid the garters keeping his outer shirt tucked in. He then unbuttoned it, folding it with quick snaps of his wrists and set it aside. There were a few holes that needed mending before it could be washed.

His undershirt, stuck to his back and middle with a layer of sweat, took some coaxing to come off. He rolled up the hem a ways before reaching behind and pulling it upwards over his head, the fabric damp and warm. His skin prickled as the night chill hit his bare torso.

He could feel eyes on him. He tried to ignore the heady weight of another person observing his bare back, sight roaming across his shoulders and spine, and felt he could manage it as long as Noctis didn’t say anything. Knowing him as well as he did, it was probably out of curiosity. Noctis himself had a large and jagged white scar across his mid-back, the result of a naga attack many years ago. That very same wound had left him relatively immobile for months, the royal family seeking healing in Tenebrae before it was annexed by Niflheim. Ignis had felt so worried then. Seeing his charge-- his friend being wheeled on a blood-soaked gurney through the Citadel and being unable to get a proper answer from the adults around them. He’d disappeared into surgery that very night, news of the attack still buzzing about the halls like fruit flies. He’d almost been able to stay up to see Noctis out of his procedure, but had fallen asleep on his uncle’s office couch from pure exhaustion. He hadn’t been with Noctis for one reason or another, and some part of him thought that if he’d been there then the attack wouldn’t have been so bad. Their guards may still have perished, bellies whipped open by the daemon’s razor-like tail and nails, and King Regis would have been able to step in earlier if he knew Noctis was in Ignis’ care. The King wasn’t quite so frail back then, but his memory reminded him that he had been taking on the Wall not just to cover Insomnia but almost the entirety of Lucis. They still had a fighting chance for the outer cities and island satellite states then.

But none of it would’ve mattered had the Prince fallen down and died.

When Ignis did see him, it was nearing midday. He had to lie face-down on his hospital bed, cheek pressed to the shallow pillow. Ignis gave him water through a straw and waited on him more than he had before. When he’d regained some movement and began using the wheelchair, their time together felt less heavy. Temporary ramps were installed all throughout the Citadel and Ignis pushed him everywhere he wanted, even playing with him in the garden. Once, he’d been scolded by a servant for lifting the Prince from his chair and setting him on the fountain to play in the water, despite it being Noctis’ idea. They never were told that, of course. Anything he did for Noctis was just as much for him. And he knew not much had changed since then.

Back in their camp tent, Ignis shimmied into a more comfortable shirt and tightened his belt, ignoring the loose straps that functioned as a shirt stay. He’d dress down further once supper was done and the dishes were put away. For now, he rezipped his bag and pretended as if he hadn’t felt Noctis watching him change tops. He looked up at the selfsame Prince and saw him quickly look away, eyes finding something in the tent wall past him. Noctis blinked, resetting himself, and found Ignis’ eyes.

“What’s up?”

“I was wondering what to make for supper. The boys should be back at any moment now with their catch for the night. I have to be prepared to either skin, debone, declaw or do all of the above for whatever fiend they procure for nourishment.”

He’d looked away to ponder his words but found his way back to their contact.

“Are you certain you’d like to pass on tonight’s food?”

Noctis gave this some thought, humming quietly in his throat.

“Will it be just meat with no vegetables?”

“I can do fruit, if you prefer.”

“Can’t just skip the healthy stuff altogether?”

“Not in your condition, no. And also not without sacrificing flavor.”

“Which means we’ll have to go another day without contracting scurvy.”

“The horror.”

Noctis smiled then, his first smile of the day. He let it widen to show his teeth and laughed, eyes squinting at their edges. Ignis couldn’t help but smile, too, caught up in the moment. From outside the tent, he heard two sets of footsteps and voices calling his name. He stood and brushed himself off, turning towards the tent flap.

“Back to business, then. I expect you’ll eat a full serving?”

“Make it a half. Don’t wanna upchuck all over your pretty needlework.”

“Half a portion, with extra fruit on the side.”

“Don’t push it.”

He smiled again and left, letting the tent flap shutter closed behind him. Even days with accidents and pain, goodness could still be found.


End file.
